


An Accidental Detour

by DotyTakeThisDown



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Spoilers, mentions of caleb's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotyTakeThisDown/pseuds/DotyTakeThisDown
Summary: When Essek's transportation spell goes wrong, Caleb is left stranded alone with him for a night.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 12
Kudos: 263





	An Accidental Detour

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea the very first time Essek transported the Mighty Nein, when Matt made them roll and suggested something could go wrong. Then I put it on the shelf for a while...until Liam showed up on Talks and announced that Caleb is definitely attracted to Essek and my brain decided that a moment spent not thinking about Shadogast was a moment wasted. 
> 
> This is tagged for spoilers because of brief mentions of events throughout campaign 2 but it isn't set in any particular point in the canon timeline. Yes, this is a shameless excuse to write both the cabin and "only one bed" tropes. I regret nothing.

Caleb can feel it, the moment something goes wrong. It should’ve been an easy trip for Essek to escort them on, a breath from Rosohna to the Savalirwood. He’d drop them off and that would be that, another entry on the ever-increasing list of favors they owe him.

The bottom drops out of Caleb’s stomach as Rosohna disappears around them. A hard weight of _nothing_ knocks against his shoulder and he feels space spiraling around him. He reels, slipping away from their destination.

Beau’s hand falls free of his own.

Essek’s doesn’t, hand clenched so tightly around Caleb’s that he thinks he can feel bones grinding. Possibilities flash before his eyes—houses and cities and deserts and forests and icy wastelands and dark chambers. The effect is nauseating.

_Fuck_.

The spell spits him out onto hard ground. The wind jolts out of his lungs. He stays on his back for a minute, trying to focus on making sure all of his body parts have arrived in the same place. He’s quite certain they have. It all hurts too much for anything to be missing.

“Caleb?” Essek’s voice is somewhere to his right, steadier than he feels right now.

Caleb groans in response, pain pounding through his head. He flexes his fingers, wondering when they’d let go of each other.

“Caleb?” Essek repeats, closer this time. Caleb forces his eyes open, turning his head to look. The Shadowhand is sitting up next to him, blood trickling from a small cut on his cheek. His hair looks like he was caught in a tornado. There are leaves stuck in the collar of his robes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Caleb says, craning his head around. They’re in a forest, one thick with leafy trees and conifers with little undergrowth. It’s not the Savalirwood.

More importantly, there’s no sign of the others.

Fear bolts through him and he pushes himself upright. Dizziness threatens to flatten him back out again. He squints his eyes shut against the spin of the world around him.

“What happened?” he asks, hesitantly opening his eyes again. “Where are we? Where is everyone?”

Essek grimaces, pressing a hand to the cut on his face. “Your friends must’ve gone ahead to the Savalirwood without us. I’m sorry. I don’t know where we are.”

“They’re all right, though?” Caleb pleads, anxiety still flowing through him. He tries not to picture the rest of the Mighty Nein spit out in Eiselcross or Marquet or the middle of the ocean. “They’re not—lost?”

“Your friends are safe.”

“Can we try again?”

“Yes, but not today.” Essek winces as he pulls his fingers away from his cut, blood streaked across his hand and face. “I need to rest.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Fine.” Essek doesn’t look at him, gaze fixed firmly away into the shadows of the trees. “I’m afraid I’ve reached my limits for the day.”

_CALEB_. Jester’s voice explodes into his head before he can reply, louder than usual. _CALEB. CALEB. ARE YOU OKAY? CALEB? WHERE ARE YOU? IS ESSEK WITH YOU? WE’RE NEAR THE SAVALIRWOOD._

Caleb scrunches up his eyes, the volume too much for the aching in his head. He’s so busy bracing himself for more that he almost realizes too late that she’s finished. “I’m okay, Jester. The spell spit Essek and I out somewhere else. We’ll join you in the morning, okay? Don’t wander off.”

“Are they okay?” Essek stands up to survey their surroundings. Leaves cling to the back of his robes. He looks more disheveled than Caleb has ever seen him.

“I think so. Just worried about us.” Caleb peels himself reluctantly from the ground. His back hurts, fire radiating from where he landed on a rock. He’s going to be feeling this for a few days.

Essek brushes off his robes, shaking the worst of the leaves free. “Can you make us a shelter for the night?”

Caleb shakes his head. Travel, then rest, that had been the plan. Ending up in an unknown forest filled with unknown dangers hadn’t been a part of that. “I’m tapped out. Can’t even make the dome.”

“We’ll have to find somewhere safe.” Without another word, Essek starts to walk— _walk,_ not float—into the trees. Caleb stumbles after him, legs becoming more cooperative with every step. The forest, wherever they are, is rich and beautiful. Enormous oaks and slender white birch mix together, the leaves forming a protective canopy above them. The air is cool and dry, a slight breeze coming in from the east. There’s no sign of the curse that hangs over the Savalirwood.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Caleb asks, after they’ve been wandering through the trees for almost an hour. There’s been no end to the birds, and deer, and squirrels, but no sign of people or shelter better than a few trees. Essek keeps his eyes trained ahead of them, moving with the certainty of someone who knows exactly where they are and where they’re going.

“No,” Essek says, eyes lingering on an owlbear track pressed into the soft dirt. “West, mostly.”

“I should’ve saved enough magic for the dome,” Caleb grumbles as they shift their course away from the direction of the owlbear. “I knew better.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Essek says softly. “The fault is mine.”

“It was an accident. We knew the risks, that something might go wrong.”

Essek lowers his head, pointedly not looking at him. “My concentration slipped along the way. There’s always a chance of going off-course but this one was avoidable.”

“Oh.” Caleb pauses, digesting that information. “Have you ever—”

“What’s that?” Essek interrupts, pointing off into the trees to their left. _That_ turns out to be a cabin. It’s small, probably no more than a single room on the inside. It looks sturdy enough—the split logs forming the walls are weathered but there are no signs of holes in the roof or cracks in the foundation.

“It looks abandoned,” Caleb says, taking in the dusty windows and pile of rotting firewood under the awning. He makes his way to the front door with caution and knocks twice, sharply.

“Do the owners of cabins like this usually answer the door to strangers?” Essek asks, like they’re safe and comfortable in a quiet library.

“No.” Caleb tries the doorknob. It’s not locked.

He pushes open the door with his toe and peers inside. It is one room, barely filled enough to be considered furnished. There’s a single bed, a pot hanging over what long ago could’ve been a fireplace, and a round tree trunk to serve as a table.

Caleb’s still considering the possibility of traps when Essek slips past him, casting off his outer robes as he goes. He turns around, raising an eyebrow at Caleb when he doesn’t move to follow him inside. “This is as good a place to rest as any.”

“Sure.” Caleb clears his throat, the sudden dryness in his mouth having nothing to do with the possibility that the real owner of the cabin might come home in the middle of the night. He steps inside and closes the door. “Better than the ground.”

There’s a small stack of firewood in a corner, old and dry, but still workable. It takes only seconds for Caleb to arrange it in the fireplace and spark it to life.

Essek sighs with contentment, sitting down on the end of the bed. The straw mattress rustles and crackles. “Relax,” he tells Caleb when the man hesitates, standing in the middle of the room. “If anyone comes calling, I still have some tricks up my sleeve.”

“As do I.” Caleb sits on the floor, unbuckling the straps of his holster and setting it safely on the table. The leather clashes with the rich dark material of Essek’s robes, but there’s something that feels _right_ about the both of them strewn on the table.

“I’d offer to teach you something,” Essek says, nodding at his spellbooks, “but I’m afraid summoning my book might be too much for me.”

Caleb riffles through the pages absentmindedly, adorned with spells he’d scarcely imagined even in the Academy. “I don’t think I have anything to teach you.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Essek’s voice is casual, no sign of innuendo, but heat rises on the back of Caleb’s neck. It only gets worse with, “We can find some way to pass the time.”

“I’m going to set an alarm spell,” Caleb says, a little too quickly, as he pulls out his silver wire. “You can sleep. Or meditate. I’ll take first watch.”

“You need to rest too.”

“I will. As soon as I’m done, I’ll sleep. I promise.”

Essek stares at him in silence for a second longer than is really comfortable. There’s a quiet intensity to it, like he can see straight through Caleb’s eyes and into his deepest thoughts. “Okay.”

Caleb makes his escape outside and lays his silver wire around the entire span of the cabin. At least if anyone gets close, they’ll know. He focuses on the magic, trying not to think about the drow waiting for him inside. The drow with high cheekbones and incredible eyes and intelligence to rival Caleb’s own.

He _wants_ in a way that he hasn’t felt in a very long time, wasn’t sure he’d ever let himself feel again. It’s easy to ignore that want when he’s with the rest of the Mighty Nein, when they’re running all over the world, when their lives are in danger. It’s much harder to ignore here, in this quiet forest, in this quiet cabin, with a whole night alone to look forward to.

Caleb shakes his head as he closes the circle. There’s no point in even considering it. He might be wearing Xhorhassian clothing, and living in a house in Rosohna, and owe favors to the Kryn Dynasty’s Shadowhand but he’s still a child of the Empire. He still wants to go back there, to end the wrongs committed by the Assembly, and he can’t imagine how he would do that with a foot in both nations.

Nothing will happen tonight. Nothing will happen tomorrow. His feelings for Essek will fade until they’re just another memory of his time in Xhorhas.

Caleb pushes his way back into the cabin. Essek is still fully clothed and stretched out on his back in the bed—sleeping or meditating, he isn’t sure which. He looks almost like he’s been turned to stone, with only the soft rise and fall of his chest to convince Caleb otherwise.

Caleb wonders what it would be like to crawl into bed beside him, curl up at his side, feel the rhythm of his breath against his hand. Is his skin as soft as it looks? Would he be warm?

_That_ _’s enough_ , he scolds himself as he takes off his coat. He lays it out on the dirt and balls up his scarf into a pillow. It’s not much but he’s had worse, especially in his early days with Nott. With a roof over his head, it’s downright comfortable.

“What are you doing?” Essek’s voice almost makes Caleb jump out of his skin. He twists around to see the drow with his eyes open, head turned slightly to watch him make his bed on the floor. There’s no sign of drowsiness in his eyes.

“Going to sleep,” Caleb says, curling up on his coat. He wishes he had a blanket but there’s nothing for it now.

“Do you _like_ sleeping on the floor?”

Caleb closes his eyes and his ribs begin to ache in protest. He can feel the bruises blooming from his impact with the ground. “I don’t mind it.”

“Okay.” Essek pauses for so long that Caleb figures the matter is closed. Then, “There’s a bed right here, you know.”

Caleb opens his eyes, tilting his head to look up at him. “I’m fine down here. You can keep the bed.”

“I don’t even _need_ to sleep, you know.” Essek rises from the bed and crosses over the table to pick up his cloak. For one panicked second, Caleb thinks he’s going to leave him here, to abandon him in this unknown forest. Instead, he drapes his cloak over Caleb like a blanket. “At least now you won’t catch a cold.”

“Thank you,” Caleb murmurs, fisting his hand into the thick material. It’s softer than he expected, flowing almost like silk. He waits until he hears the straw rustle as Essek settles himself back on the bed and then lowers his head, inhaling.

It smells like the forest—damp earth, pine needles, and warm sun. He tries not to think about it as he pushes his face beneath. Under, where the cloth was pressed almost to Essek’s skin, it smells like jasmine, with faint traces of something acrid underneath, like the sharp smell after a lightning strike. Caleb wants to wrap himself in it and never emerge.

He closes his eyes, letting the smell and warmth surround him, trying to drop off into unconsciousness. Despite the exhaustion weighing on his mind and body, he refuses to settle. His ears remain pricked for any sound, whether it’s the shift of Essek on the bed or the ring of a bell. Bruises throb where they’re pressed against the floor and he rolls over, trying to escape them.

“Caleb?”

He makes a soft hum in response, hoping Essek will take the hint and ignore his restlessness.

“There’s enough room for two here.”

Caleb pokes his head from beneath the robes. Essek has his back pressed against the wall, leaving barely enough room for him to fit on the bed beside him. He can’t imagine he’ll be able to get more sleep up there, with Essek’s body inches from his own, close enough to touch if one of them so much as stretches in the night.

“I insist,” Essek says, while Caleb is still trying to weigh the pros and cons. He feels like he’s already fallen asleep and is dreaming as he unfolds himself from the floor, grabs Essek’s cloak, and climbs slowly onto the bed.

Essek accepts the offer to share the cloak, pulling it over his legs. Up close, the smell of jasmine fills Caleb’s nostrils. He trembles with the desire to press his nose into the hollow of the drow’s throat, to see what he _tastes_ like. Caleb scrunches his eyes closed, stiff as a board on the very edge of the bed.

It’s ridiculous, this feeling. It’s not his first time sharing a sleeping space with someone. There isn’t much space in the dome after all. He and Nott slept huddled together on inn beds, and bedrolls, and the prison floor more times than he can count. This isn’t any different. They both need rest and there’s only one bed. It’s only natural that they share, rest up faster so they can move on to the Savalirwood in the morning.

“Are you all right?” Essek asks, his voice far too close.

Caleb makes the mistake of turning his head to look at him. The drow is even closer than he expected. Close enough that Caleb can see the perfect curve of his lips and the nearly transparent fan of his eyelashes. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You look like you’re in pain.”

Caleb shifts, trying to move away from Essek and only managing to settle himself closer instead. “Just a little sore.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Caleb tries to smile but it hurts the muscles in his face. “I’ve had worse.”

Essek’s lips turn down into a deep frown. Caleb’s struck with the absurd desire to kiss it away. “I still didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t.” It would be so easy to bridge the distance between them, rest a reassuring hand on Essek’s arm, but he doesn’t move. “Rest. The sooner we sleep, the sooner I can rejoin the Nein and you can go back to whatever it is you do.”

Essek closes his eyes obediently, smiling again. Caleb tries to follow behind, he really does. He focuses on relaxing, finding that quiet in his mind that comes before sleep.

It escapes him. It often does, especially in an unfamiliar place. If his mind doesn’t conjure up images of Trent and crystals forced beneath his skin and the screams of his parents while he’s trying to fall asleep, his nightmares will certainly find their way there. Tonight, though, it isn’t his past that’s keeping him awake.

It’s watching the slow creep of darkness turn Essek into nothing more than a shadow beside him. The Shadowhand doesn’t move. He doesn’t twitch in his sleep. His breathing doesn’t change. There isn’t so much as a flutter in his eyelashes to indicate that he isn’t just as awake as Caleb is.

Caleb wishes that he could get up and add more wood to the fire slowly burning itself out on the other side of the room. He wonders what Essek would look like, body bathed only in the golden light of a well-tended fire. He can imagine the silver accents in his robes turned to bronze in that light, the way his eyes would reflect the soft flicker.

His imagination is running away with him now—picturing Essek unclasping the buckles on his robes, the soft clink of metal as he drops them to the floor with firelight highlighting every inch of his frame. He caught enough of a glimpse of the Shadowhand’s arm that day in the Dungeon of Penance to know those robes hide powerful muscles, but he doesn’t know if the rest of his form is more lithe like himself or muscular like Eadwulf had been.

“I didn’t know humans could sleep with their eyes open,” Essek says.

Caleb startles, almost falling backwards off the bed as he realizes that, at some point while dusk gave way to night, he’d settled onto his side and propped up his head on his arm to watch Essek sleep. As if it’s a perfectly normal thing for him to do. As if he does it all the time.

“I can’t sleep,” Caleb says, grasping onto the first thing he can think of. “Nightmares. I should go keep watch, if I’m keeping you awake.”

He starts to push off the bed, but Essek’s hand falls on his wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around. “Stay. Please.”

“I’m keeping you up,” Caleb protests, but he settles back down against the straw mattress. A stray piece pokes through the cloth and scratches at his thigh.

“I have nightmares too.” Essek’s voice is as fragile as the space between them. “It’s—it’s nice to have someone.”

“You don’t sleep.”

“Nightmares are negative thoughts that the mind conjures, yes?” Essek raises an eyebrow at him. “Asleep or meditating, the result is the same.”

In the darkness, when all Caleb can see is the outline of Essek next to him and the careful movements of his lips, it’s easy to say, “What do you have nightmares about?”

“Knowledge being lost. Dying with questions still unanswered.” Essek’s head brushes against the pillowcase as he turns to look at Caleb. “And you?”

“Being alone.”

Essek reaches out, trails two careful fingers down the length of Caleb’s arms. It’s a simple touch, reassuring, but it feels like lightning against his skin. “You’re not alone.”

“For now.”

“I know your friends,” Essek says, a laugh in his tone, “and I do not think they will leave you even if you ask them to.”

“Not willingly.” Caleb swallows hard, echoes of his parents’ screams in his ears and the taste of ash on his tongue. His head aches with the memory of his mind shattering, of eleven years of constant supervision but always being _alone alone alone._ “It’s funny,” he says, before he realizes he’s still speaking, “I used to feel like I was meant to be on my own. That being around people—I would put them in danger just by being near them. Now I can’t imagine life without them.”

“I thought the same once—that I was made to be alone.” Essek’s fingers stroke their way down his arm once more. “Then a scruffy Empire wizard walked into my Queen’s throne room and offered a beacon.”

Caleb wrinkles his nose, trying to ignore the way his heart is picking up speed in his chest. “You thought I was scruffy?”

“You might’ve noticed the lack of beards in the Dynasty. Not to mention that leather coat with all the holes.”

“I suppose the look of terror on my face didn’t help.”

“You didn’t look terrified.”

Caleb huffs a laugh. He remembers the waves of panic washing over him, the way his hands had shaken as he reached into Jester’s bag and pulled out their freedom. “Then what did I look like?”

“Determined. Reckless.” Caleb hardly dares to draw breath as Essek’s hand finds its way from his arm to his chest. “Beautiful.”

“What did you mean, when you said your concentration slipped on the way here?” Caleb blurts out, desperate to change the subject to safer ground. Anything to avoid thinking about the intensity in Essek’s eyes or the casual touch of his hand.

“Oh.” Essek stills, his fingers wavering. “It was nothing.”

“Doesn’t _feel_ like nothing.”

Essek sighs, pulling his hand back to his own chest. Caleb is suddenly cold in spite of the thick cloak warding off the night chill. “I lost track of our destination because I started thinking of something else.”

“What?”

Essek turns his head, staring at the darkened ceiling. “I can’t remember.”

“As the Shadowhand, I’m sure you can lie better than that.”

“Why are you so curious?”

“If you’re going to teach me this trick, I’m going to need to know how to avoid making this mistake myself.”

Essek draws what looks like an aimless pattern on his own chest. “It was you.”

“Me?” Caleb stiffens. “What about me?”

“Jester insisted that we all hold hands and—it was only a second, but all I could think about was your hand in mine and then—a second was all it took to lose hold on the spell.”

Warmth bubbles in Caleb’s chest no matter how hard he tries to push it aside. “Is that why I ended up here, with you, while the others went on to the Savalirwood?”

“Not…exactly.” Essek closes his eyes for a moment. “What were you thinking about, before everything went wrong?”

The moments between the spell taking hold and their crash-landing in the forest had been scarce, the space of a single breath. He’d been focused on the Savalirwood, on how they would find a safe place to rest without the dome.

“We should hold hands, just in case,” Jester had said.

“Is this _really_ necessary?” Fjord had asked, finding himself holding hands with Jester on one side and Clay on the other.

“It can’t hurt,” Essek had said, taking Caleb’s hand in his. His skin had been soft, cool to the touch. That connection had filled his mind as he was sucked into the spell, the last thing he’d thought of before being sent catapulting across space.

“You,” Caleb says at last. “I was thinking about you.”

“When I broke from the spell,” Essek’s tone is purely academic now, “you followed me. You didn’t have to. It’s why the others arrived safely in the Savalirwood and you—didn’t. If I hadn’t let my feelings get in the way—”

Caleb’s breathing stops. He pushes back upright, propping himself against his elbow. He must’ve fallen asleep after all, and now he’s caught up in a rare pleasant dream. It’s the only explanation. “What are you saying?”

Essek shuts his mouth with an audible click of his teeth. He pushes himself back on the bed but there’s nowhere to go, he’s already pressed against the wall. The moonlight is barely enough to reflect the horror dawning in his eyes. “Nothing. I’m not saying—”

“Your feelings?”

“It’s nothing. A careless distraction. I could’ve gotten you _killed_ —”

Anticipation rushes through Caleb all at once. He doesn’t want to talk anymore, doesn’t want to hear any more excuses or doubts. The gods know he has enough of them on his own. Right now, in this cabin, all the reasons why they _shouldn_ _’t_ seem like far-flung nightmares, and he’s left only with the reason why they _should_. Essek has feelings for him and that’s all he needs to know to fist his hand in the Shadowhand’s robes and drag him forward into a kiss.

Essek’s lips are still, tension turning him into a statue again. Caleb hesitates, afraid that he may have misread the situation. Just because Essek has _feelings_ for him doesn’t mean he wants to kiss, after all. But when Caleb tries to draw back, Essek chases after him. He lifts his head off the mattress, pressing their lips back together.

What Essek lacks in finesse, he makes up for in enthusiasm. The angle is awkward and it isn’t long before Caleb’s neck is starting to ache from craning over to reach him. He breaks the kiss just long enough to move closer, looming over the Shadowhand’s form. He pauses, hair hanging long around his face. He wants to drink Essek in, wants to imprint the sight of him in his memories, just in case he never gets to have this again.

“Are you waiting for something?” Essek asks, brushing Caleb’s hair aside where it’s landing in his face.

“No.” He closes his eyes as he leans down into their second kiss. Essek relaxes against him, opens his mouth when Caleb’s tongue traces the soft curve of his lower lip. He tastes like nothing but potential, a thousand possibilities scattered across the stars. The world outside fades away, leaving Caleb with nothing but Essek’s body pressed against his. There’s no real warmth through the drow’s clothes, but Caleb can feel the hard shift of his muscles hidden underneath.

It feels _right,_ like every possible thread had led to this bed, this inevitable moment in time. Caleb nips down on Essek’s bottom lip, earning a sharp gasp. He pulls back, just far enough to break the kiss without losing the feel of Essek’s breath against his face. He can barely see the drow’s outline beneath him, just the shine of his eyes and the dark smudge of his nose, and it’s not enough. He wants to see everything, wants to know if Essek can flush, if his lips are swollen, if his eyes are glazed.

He wants to know if the Shadowhand looks as affected as he feels.

The spell is easy. He doesn’t even think about it as his mouth curves around the words and globules of light circle slowly above their heads.

The sight of Essek beneath him punches the air out of Caleb’s lungs. His skin looks the same as always but his lips are the slightest bit swollen purple and there’s an glint in his eyes that makes a shiver run down Caleb’s spine. He doesn’t look desperate or lost in pleasure; he looks starved for more.

“What is it?” Essek asks, reaching up to tuck an escaped lock of hair behind Caleb’s ear. “Is something wrong?”

“I—” Caleb loses his train of thought, too busy memorizing the way Essek’s pale hair fans across the pillow, mixing with his own red. “I wanted to see you.”

“Here I am.” Essek lifts his head from the pillow, eyes half-closed, but Caleb is too far away for him to reach. “Do you want to stop?”

“Never.” Caleb crosses the distance between them, falling into a kiss that’s easier than the first two. Essek’s tongue pushes into his mouth as he takes advantage of his opportunity to explore. It’s a bit awkward and hesitant, as though with each new move he’s waiting for Caleb to yank away from him.

Caleb moans in encouragement, more vibration than sound. Essek’s hand finds its way to the back of his neck, thumb pressing into the hollow below his jaw, holding him in place like Caleb has any plans to move anytime soon.

A distant part of him feels Trent would be proud of him, crawling into bed with the enemy, and he promptly shoves that thought into a box and kicks it into the Astral Sea. Here, he doesn’t have to think about how Bren Ermendrud and Caleb Widogast fit together, or what it means that he’s of the Empire and Essek is the Kryn Dynasty’s Shadowhand. He can just be a man kissing another man because they both want this. There’ll be time enough later to figure out what this means, if Essek even wants there to be a _this_.

Caleb doesn’t want to think about that either.

It doesn’t take them long to find their way into a rhythm, a slow give-and-take broken only by short attempts to catch their breath. It reminds Caleb of their studying together, of following questions to dead-ends or theories or still more questions. He rubs his tongue over the roof of Essek’s mouth, earning a hissed intake of breath, and he wonders only if Essek would like it if he replaced his tongue with the head of his cock.

It’s past midnight according to Caleb’s internal clock by the time he breaks the kiss and rests his chin on Essek’s chest. “We need to sleep,” he says regretfully. His voice sounds strange to his own ears, almost gravelly.

“I think this is very restful,” Essek says, sliding his hand up to rest his thumb against Caleb’s lips, “don’t you?”

“ _Schatz_ ,” Caleb murmurs, resting his head on the drow’s chest. Essek wraps a tentative arm around his shoulders. “We won’t be able to meet the rest of the Nein if we keep going like this.”

Essek hums low in his throat. “Perhaps we could spend another day in this cabin. It’s quite cozy.”

“Tempting, but—”

“I know.” Essek rests a hand on top of Caleb’s, letting their fingers twine together. Caleb can feel himself relaxing, his body sinking into the straw in a way it hadn’t before. Darkness closes in on the edge of his consciousness and he feels rather than sees his light spell flicker out. “Sleep well, Caleb.”

***

Caleb wakes in the soft light just before dawn to his own body tangled with Essek’s. His head is still resting on the drow’s chest, hand creeping downward on his stomach, one of his legs draped over both of Essek’s. He settles deeper into the mattress and closes his eyes. A few more minutes won’t hurt. It’s not like he promised Jester he’d meet them at _sunrise_.

Essek’s leg shifts, brushing against Caleb’s trousers. Horror washes over Caleb in a wave. He’s _hard_ and, more than that, his cock is now pressed against Essek’s thigh. The drow shifts again, movements grinding against Caleb’s cock. He clenches his jaw to keep from letting out a whine. The friction is too much and not enough all at once. He wants nothing more than to push into it, to chase that friction until he comes.

He won’t do that. He can’t do that. Essek is _asleep_. He’s not going to rut against him like he’s back in the Academy and they have five minutes before it’s time to leave for class. Caleb clenches his jaw and tries to will his hard-on away as he slowly, slowly tilts his hips away from Essek’s body. He holds his breath, trying to stay relaxed on Essek’s chest, trying to move as little as possible so not to rouse him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Essek says, and Caleb nearly knees him in the side.

“Do what?”

“Hide.” Essek reaches up, tangling their fingers together and guiding Caleb’s hand down, down, far lower than he would’ve dared go himself. Caleb’s palm presses against an unmistakable bulge hidden beneath both sets of robes. “Unless…you don’t want to?”

Caleb does, very much, but he doesn’t know what _this_ is. He feels much like he did in those moments in the Bright Queen’s throne room as he held up the beacon for the whole room to see. Like he might be making the very wrong choice but it could also be the very right one and he won’t know which one until he’s already seen it through. Essek pulls his hand away, uncertainty written in every line of his face, and Caleb hates himself a little bit more for it.

“Wait,” he says, rocking his hand against Essek’s cock. “Show me how you like it.”

Essek nods, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. Buckles clink together and laces come loose as he works his way through his own layers. He lets out a soft sigh of relief as he frees himself from his clothing.

Caleb moans as Essek guides his hand to wrap around his cock. The skin is soft as silk, the length of it making his mouth water.

“Like this,” Essek says, his voice low and husky as he leads Caleb’s hand in the first stroke. Caleb swipes his thumb over the head, gathering the pre-come beading there, using it to slick his way down on the next one. It’s easy, slow, familiar. It feels like they’ve woken up this way hundreds of times, not that this is the first and could be the last.

Essek’s lips part, his breath hitching with each new downstroke. Emboldened by the sound, Caleb swipes his thumb over the head again, earning the slightest moan for his troubles. He wants to hear that sound again, louder, wants to take Essek apart until his inhibitions fall away and only pleasure remains. A part of him is already trying to come up with excuses to spend a day, two, _three_ in Essek’s house alone once the Nein’s business in the Savalirwood is complete—even though he knows he’s way ahead of himself. He doesn’t even know if Essek is going to want to do this again, let alone for hours.

“Yes, yes,” Essek breathes, slipping into Elvish as he lets his hand fall to the mattress. Caleb takes advantage of the chance to study, cataloging every moan and hitched breath that Essek makes. The way his hips buck when his thumb presses into the soft skin hidden behind his cock. The hiss when Caleb tightens his grip and thrusts faster. The way his Elvish mumbling raises an octave when he slows back down again.

Caleb longs to tell Essek every dirty thing he’d like to do to him, every fantasy he’s ever had, along with all the new ones he’s filing away. The words dance on the tip of his tongue, threatening to burst loose.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Essek hisses. He fists his hands in his robes and tosses them aside. They land on the floor with a soft thump. Caleb barely hears it over the ringing in his ears. If he’d thought imagining Essek’s cock in his fist was unbearable, it’s nothing compared to the reality. The drow’s cock is flushed a dark purple, pre-come dripping onto the mattress between his spread legs. He looks _obscene_ in a way that Caleb’s brain struggles to reconcile, like the organized, constantly floating Essek he knows can’t be the same person as this wanton man.

The sight of it breaks him and he starts to speak in Xemnian. He tells Essek how gorgeous he looks, how he wants to kiss every inch of his skin, how he wants to spread him out on a desk—books safely put away—and fuck him. How he wants to cast Tongues on them both, so they can lose themselves in bed together, cursing and moaning and begging in Elvish and Xemnian without losing the words. Essek seems to understand the gist—or at least enjoy the sound of Caleb’s voice—because the moans get just a little bit louder.

Essek arches his back, bracing his heels on the bed to fuck up into Caleb’s grip. He gasps in Elvish, his body trembling. His eyes are hooded as he looks to Caleb like he expects him to respond.

“I don’t speak—” Caleb says, his voice wrecked.

“I’m—” Essek’s voice breaks on another moan as Caleb tightens his grip again. “I’m so close.”

“Go on.” Caleb leans over, presses his teeth against Essek’s throat. “I want to see you.”

He strokes once, twice, before Essek’s hands clench down on the mattress. He bares his neck, closes his eyes, pants for breath. White streaks across his dark skin and clothing. Caleb knows that even without his keen mind, he’ll never forget this moment.

When Essek opens his eyes, his pupils are blown wide. There’s a single-minded determination there and Caleb thinks he understands how their spellbooks feel. He shivers as Essek pushes against his chest until he rolls over on his back. He’d been so focused on Essek—his pleasure, his release—that he hadn’t noticed his own cock neglected in his trousers, so hard it almost aches.

Caleb reaches down but Essek knocks his hands aside. “Let me.”

“ _Fuck_.” Caleb fists his hands in the mattress instead. It’s the work of seconds for Essek to ruck up his shirt, push down his trousers, and free his cock.

Caleb fixes his eyes on Essek’s face, sure that if he watches the Shadowhand touch him, he won’t be able to take it. Essek tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, watching what he’s doing without blinking. It’s intense in a way that sends a shiver down Caleb’s spine.

Essek’s fingers are almost cool as they wrap around the base and give an experimental stroke. Caleb makes a strangled sound, arching his neck and closing his eyes. Maybe it’s better if he just doesn’t look at anything. Maybe then he won’t come in less than a minute, like he’s back in his Academy days. He doesn’t want this to be over, doesn’t want to give Essek an excuse to _stop_.

Essek’s fingers press at the base of his cock, swipe over the crown, press against the slit. His grip changes with every stroke, tighter on one, looser on the next, faster, then slower, until Caleb’s trembling to see what comes next. He can feel the Shadowhand studying his reactions, repeating the touches that make him squirm and cuss and moan, discarding the ones that don’t.

It’s _maddening_ , in a way that makes Caleb wonder what it would be like to come once—just to take the edge off—and then carry on like this all day. Studying each other the way they study dunamancy.

He wants to know what it would be like to fall to his knees and take Essek into his mouth, what he would taste like when he comes. Wants to know what Essek’s fingers—his cock—would feel like inside of him.

“So beautiful,” Essek murmurs, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss on Caleb’s chest where his shirt has fallen open. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about this.”

“Me too.” Caleb pants, hips bucking upward into the circle of Essek’s hand. “Harder. Please.”

“Like this?” Essek tightens his grip slightly and begins to stroke faster. It’s _delicious._ Caleb arches his back, unable to speak through his moans. His body launches itself to the edge far too quickly, fire racing down his spine. He struggles to stave off the inevitable, but Essek leans over and bites down on his collarbone, teeth leaving a red semi-circle behind.

“ _Essek_.” Caleb doesn’t have time to say anything more, to warn him, before he’s coming on Essek’s hand and his own stomach, his own clothes. A bit of regret that they hadn’t taken the time to undress simmers in his gut but he can’t bring himself to care.

Caleb’s whole body melts into the mattress as he catches his breath. Essek presses lazy kisses to his collarbone and throat, murmuring broken phrases in Elvish in between each brush of his lips. Caleb’s eyes threaten to drift closed as a drowsy haze settles over him. He thinks he could stay in this bed forever, scratchy cloth and bits of straw be damned.

_CALEB. IT_ _’S JESTER_. The jarring screech of Jester’s voice inside his head jerks him out of a doze. There’s come drying on his skin and Essek’s head resting just over his heart. _ARE YOU OKAY? WHERE ARE YOU? I THOUGHT YOU WERE MEETING US IN THE MORNING. WE’RE WAITING. DID YOU GET LOST OR—_

The spell ends abruptly and Caleb finds himself rather glad that, for once, he can’t hear the tail-end of Jester’s message. He tries not to groan before he responds, “I’m fine. We’ll be there in a minute. Don’t move.”

He thinks about including something about having to find shelter, or a late night, or oversleeping, but he doesn’t want to invite more questions. He’ll think of something when he sees them. In the meantime, he opens his eyes to see Essek still sleeping on his chest, pale hair fanned against the rough brown of his tunic.

“Jester getting anxious?” Essek asks, his voice sleep-rough as he nuzzles against Caleb’s chest.

“She thought we got lost again.” Caleb strokes his hand through Essek’s hair, finding it feather-soft. “It seems we overslept.”

Essek hums softly. “I might be able to transport us right from this bed.”

“I don’t know about that,” Caleb teases. “If we ended up in this forest because I was _holding your hand_ , I’d hate to see what happens when we’re tangled up like this.”

“I never should’ve told you about that,” Essek grumbles, pulling himself away from Caleb. They both clamber out of bed, somewhat awkwardly with their trousers still unlaced and hanging around their thighs. Caleb wrinkles his nose at the come staining both their clothes.

“This is going to take forever to come out.”

“Is it?” Essek twitches a hand and, in a blink, they’re both spotless. “I would think a wizard of your caliber would be familiar with that one.”

“Maybe I had other priorities.” Caleb’s too busy watching Essek’s nimble fingers fasten the buckles of his own clothes to pay much attention to his own. Maybe if he studies how it all comes together, he’ll know how to make it come apart.

“I look forward to seeing them in action.” Essek’s voice is low and velvet soft. Caleb feels his cock twitch in interest and he hurries to look away. As much as he’d love to, they don’t have time for another round right now and he doesn’t want to have to look the Mighty Nein in the eye while half-hard.

“Ready?” Caleb asks, once they’re dressed again and his desire is firmly locked away.

Essek offers his hand. Caleb takes it, cheeks burning at the feeling of cool skin against his own. He only has time to draw another breath before the spell takes hold and launches him across the countryside.

Caleb’s feet find purchase in an open meadow. He can see the darkness of the Savalirwood in the distance, curse-twisted trees a foreboding presence in this tranquil place. Among the wildflowers is the rest of the Mighty Nein, looking bored and out-of-place clad in armor and carrying more weapons than some battalions. Half of them are wearing flower crowns. Yasha is halfway through weaving one of blue daisies.

“You made it,” Clay says warmly, like they’ve come to morning tea instead of Caleb showing up hours late for a journey into the Savalirwood. Yellow daffodils hang lop-sided around his head. His gaze darts downward to where Caleb and Essek are still holding hands. Caleb can see the flash of _Interesting_ behind his eyes.

“Caleb!” Jester leaps up, wildflowers whipping her legs as she runs toward them. She stutters to a stop as Caleb lets go of Essek’s hand a beat too late.

“What—” Caleb can see her mind putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Her eyes linger on his collarbone and he wonders far too late if Essek left any marks behind. “When I sent you the message this morning, were you—”

“Sleeping?” Caleb interrupts, his entire face bursting into flames. Essek lets out an awkward cough that sounds far too much like smothered laughter. “Yes, we overslept. We didn’t have the dome and we had to take turns keeping watch last night. Owlbears, you know.”

“Right,” Jester says, squinting at him. “Owlbears.”

“I’d better get home,” Essek says, before Caleb can work up to dying of embarrassment. “I’ve likely already missed one meeting.”

“Thank you for—” Caleb’s voice is cut off as Essek grabs him by the collar and pulls him into a kiss. It’s a brief thing, almost chaste except for the flick of Essek’s tongue on his bottom lip, a goodbye and a promise of more.

When he pulls away again, it’s with a mischievous smile. “This time, consider us even. Let me know when you’re back in Rosohna,” he says, and then Caleb’s hands are reaching for nothing as he vanishes.

“Caleb!” Jester shrieks, slapping him on the arm. “Are you and Essek together?”

Caleb stammers over a “Yes—No—Maybe” as his eyes search the rest of the Nein. Fjord looks like someone hit him over the head with a club. Yasha and Beau’s mouths are hanging open, staring equally wide-eyed at him. Veth’s eyes carry a dangerous glint but she shakes her head in an _if you must_ way when Caleb catches her eye. He gets the feeling that he’s going to get an earful later.

Only Clay is turned away from him, chuckling as he picks up the remains of their breakfast.

Caleb gulps, his entire face still burning. He can feel himself sweating beneath his coat, despite the pleasant coolness of the morning. “So? Molaesmyr?”


End file.
